


A study in domesticity

by Inzey



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, kneazle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 18:23:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inzey/pseuds/Inzey
Summary: A collection of drabbles set in a shared universe where Credence Barebone and Percival Graves are living together.Description/prompt for each drabble in notes.





	A study in domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> From writing-prompt-s 100 Dialogue Prompts: Part 3, 1. “My sock is missing.”
> 
> This was written while I was trying to avoid thinking about my first exam (which is technically today), and typed up between sessions of reading about parasitic diseases.

Percival was seated at the breakfast table, reading the New York Ghost; a cup of coffee was in reach of his right hand, and the plate which had earlier held his breakfast was still on the table. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to avoid any accidents during his meal, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. A black tie was hanging over the chair next to him, ready to be tied when he finished getting ready for work.

 

He was sipping his coffee when he heard soft steps across wooden floors; he recognised the light steps that signified paws, and not human feet. He lowered the paper an inch and glanced across the top, just to be sure; after everything he had been through, he always checked instead of speculating. Sera had at one point joked about paranoia, but he was adamant that he was just being cautious. Every time she mentioned it or steered the conversation towards similar topics, he made sure to change the subject; he was rarely interested in discussing his feelings with anyone but his boy.

 

He saw the back half of Credence’s kneazle disappear out of sight behind the sofa, dark tail swishing contentedly; it was clearly leaving the bedroom, and he was sure the beast had been up to no good. It was rarely up to any good; just last week he had caught it trying to eat his miniature tentacula, his get-well-soon gift from his aurors following his captivity. Whatever it was up to, it was of no matter to him, it was not his pet, so he lowered his gaze back to the articles he had been perusing.

 

Credence, on a walk with Newt Scamander, had come across someone giving away kneazle kittens; despite Percival’s intimidating frown, Newt had kept quiet about the location and identity of the person who had supplied them with the blasted fur ball. So, for some reason, the beast had become the third inhabitant of their apartment, in spite of Percival’s vocal protests and exaggerated complaints; it had moved in two months after his boy had moved in, and they had been inseparable ever since.

 

He should have known it was a lost cause to argue; he really should know by now that he was unable to deny Credence anything. The boy could ask for the moon and he would head out to try and find a ladder high enough; he had come to discover that he was a fool for his boy. In the beginning he had been a bit reluctant to admit to his himself how deep his feelings went; now he had no compulsions about how gone he was for Credence.

 

The grey-spotted ball of fur was excellent at blending in with the shadows of the apartment. That was likely why it had chosen to make its nest under an old low end table, perched in the corner of the living room. Percival could accept that; he was honestly relieved that the beast was not sleeping in the bed with them. He was glad he had not been forced to attempt to deny Credence on that matter.

 

Despite his initial reluctance to open his door to the animal, he had come to see that it was beneficial for Credence. In the beginning of their cohabitation the animal had comforted Credence during countless nightmares, and it had allowed him to cling to the animal during sleepless nights. Percival adored the happy look Credence got when the animal curled up in his lap, and for that joyful expression alone he had silently accepted the beast as another resident of their apartment.

 

A few sips and a few pages later Percival hears shuffling from the bedroom, followed by some muttered words of confusion. He pretends that the warmth blossoming in his chest is due to the mouthful of coffee he just swallowed; in spite of his pretences, he cannot keep his lips from curling slightly. Credence is always lovely in the morning; when Percival rolls out of bed to get ready for work he rolls into the space that Percival just occupied, and he buries his face in Percival’s pillow. The covers are pulled up so that only his eyes and a mop of dark hair is visible, and Percival always places a reverent kiss on top of the black strands after he finished dressing.

 

The bedroom door opens fully and he hears Credence step into the living room, coming to a stop just outside the bedroom. He lowers the paper and send the boy a small smile, thoroughly enjoying the view presented to him. Credence is wearing a pair of his own casual trousers, and one of Percival’s old Ilvermony Wampus sweaters; it almost slips off his left shoulder, and the sleeves have been rolled up to present his slender wrists. The dark hair is tousled and there are still pillow-creases on his cheek.

 

“I am missing my sock,” Credence says, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. The words draw Percival’s attention to his feet, and he lowers the paper another few inches.

 

One foot is bare, skin pale and lovely like the rest of the boy. The other foot is covered by on his socks; it is dark yellow and chunky, clearly home knit. The pair is Credence’s favourite, Percival knows; they were a gift for his first Christmas in their apartment, knitted by Queenie. She had gifted him more later, but he still treasures his first pair most; it was both his first Christmas gift, and the first piece that she had knitted him.

 

Percival does not say a word, merely lets his smile grow a bit wider; he points towards the corner of the living room and the low table, knowing Credence will understand. He keeps his eyes on his boy as he softly slips across the floor towards his pet’s nest; he sinks to his knees and starts to softly call for Solomon. Percival only returns his gaze to the paper when he hears the animal squeak in indignation; he imagines the two will sort the ownership of the sock out between themselves.


End file.
